When his eyes Meet Mine
by Crimson Lie
Summary: Rated PG for possible slash interpretation - but it's up to you how you interpret it! Written like Point of View...


I stared across the crowded hall at him, watchful, wary. I was his silent watcher, his silent protector. His companions believed I hated him; I liked things that way. I didn't want them to know that I dreamed of him at night, or that each day I dreamed of a different past – if I'd made one different decision what might have happened?

But I could never tell him this. When he caught me staring at him, how could I explain to him that every night I fell asleep longing to hold him in my arms? How could I tell him that I replayed every word we had ever exchanged – wondering where I'd gone wrong, what I should have said differently? The answer, of course, was that I couldn't. And that meant that I wouldn't, either.

Instead I made up petty insults, jealous of the close friendships he had with his friends, for I had nothing like the sort of bond that they shared. Especially lacking was the friendship I longed for so much – the friendship and more – I wanted from him. But what I wanted, I had eventually come to realize, could just never be.

I had, at first, imagined a future where we were together. I stood by his side, his lover and friend, supporting him and helping him defeat the problems that he faced. Together, we would conquer anything. Now, however, I saw just how impossible it really was. With each day that came to pass I saw another possible future shattering before my eyes as I made another calculated decision, weighing the outcome of my move against the ripples it might create.

We weren't meant to be, I suppose some romantics might have said, we were opposites and could never come together. I had been cast as the villain and given my lines, while he was pure, golden, and everything I could never be – everything I wanted.

I had resented this realization when I'd first come to it. I'd rejected it. But I had, as I'd known I would eventually do, come to accept it. The bitter and hard realization that while I insulted him, while I fought with him – while we stayed enemies – he would stay safe. By my actions – my hateful words, spiteful glares and barely-veiled grimaces – I had saved him. He disliked me, now, and I had saved him by that.

Father had once told me to befriend him – to catch him any way I could, to bring him over to "our" way of thinking. I'd heard that echoed, numerous times, by innumerable voices. The thing they all had in common was that all wanted him. All needed him. And it wasn't until I was older, and wiser, that I'd realized how good it was that my attempts had failed.

I'd at first been bitter when he'd rejected my friendship, and had acted as one who'd been wronged. Vengeful, arrogant – but those virtues that I know hated and wanted to erase had been that which saved my love. I realize, now, that by making him an enemy I couldn't hand him over to my father and all those others who wanted him so badly. My hasty words and his dislike had been the very thing to redeem him.

Not that I was any one to judge his hatred. I knew that if I told him he'd believe me in a second. He'd love me forever if ever I told him how I felt, told him of my love. This love, the very reason I would tell him – also prevented me from doing so. If I told him I would have his love in return – but he would be snatched away from me, taken and destroyed in an instant. So I instead teased and insulted him, taking pleasure in each recoiled gesture, each frozen stare. For I knew, in each action, came another day of his life. And I watched, with each gesture, as my dreams slid further out of reach, as my fantasies slipped further from me.

His eyes meet mine across the crowded hall, and I see him smiling at something his friend says. He will never know – can never know. I see his careless expression falter, as if something in my gaze tells him some message, some silent communication. I can feel my heart cracking, shattering in it's meagerly protected cage of skin and bones – something that helps not a whit to protect from this emotional pain. I know I have lost my heart, just as I have lost my hopes, dreams and purpose to him. I stand, breaking his gaze, and leave the hall, feeling the cold tears slipping down my cheeks. Because I know he must mean nothing to me.


End file.
